Mother's Day
by Busman's Holiday
Summary: One shot story set in 2015. Ste and Brendan are living together when a visitor arrives at their door.


A/N:

Just a one shot fic, set in 2015 with Brendan and Ste living together and a surprise arrival. Hope you enjoy!

**Mother's Day (Day: 114)**

The smell of him, freshly showered in the morning, that's what kicked him into gear.

He could lie there, listening to the thrum of water, and thread the bed sheets between his fingers, knowing that he was going to fuck him until it was sweat on his body not soap and water. He'd never been a morning person, Stephen, but he'd sure as hell made him one these past months. It was lazier in the mornings, his fingers clawing Stephen's hips, watching those wiser blue eyes roll back into his head, biting his lip. He'd always climb off, gangly limbs, mutter about work and Brendan'd say "Fuck work, I'm not done with ya." Then Ste'd pretend to ignore him and dress for work, only to be pinned against a wall or a cabinet on his way out the door and given a lasting kiss that was far too ferocious to be left until later (except it usually had to be). Brendan longed for days when Stephen was less independent, less motivated. But he liked the restaurant leftovers and that a hard day's work left Ste exhausted from control and bossing and he was compliant and needy and noisy, flat on his back, at three a.m. when Brendan's club had closed.

That morning held all the promises of a work-free Sunday. A bacon sandwich and a blow job. He thought about both at once, but Ste had got huffy in the way he did, when he'd tried it before. It was and always would be 'me me me' with him, but he was growing to live with it rather than fight it. And when he'd felt the unrest or the anger at a situation bubbling away he'd started to count the months and days and hours that they'd been doing this…cohabiting…business and that each day it seemed to get easier, less frightening, less horrifying. Day 114 and he could count the positives quicker than the negatives.

There was a bounce of weight on the mattress beside him. It took a while to register that Ste wasn't nuzzling his way down his body like he expected, but waiting for his damp skin to dry as he flicked through a food magazine.

"You making breakfast or you just readin' about it?" Brendan asked, unimpressed.

"Yeah in a minute," Ste said, making a tuneless exhale as he hummed over recipe inspiration.

Brendan had snatched the magazine from Ste's grasp before he had the chance to finish the page.

"Oi! I were reading that,"

"Two tablespoons of blah fucking blah. Fascinating."

Brendan threw back his side of the covers and with grip of Ste's hips, pulled him down the bed, manoeuvring the towel off his waist and climbing on top of him. Stopping the grin split his face, Ste slid his arms around Brendan's neck.

Brendan's mouth and nose and tongue soaked in that fresh, citrusy tang of his damp skin right at his collar. And then the door buzzed. And buzzed.

"Brendan –"

_BUZZ._

Brendan's hand skimmed Ste's arse. "It's God's day. And he's busy,"

Despite his giggle, Ste made an attempt to push him off when the buzzer continued. Dressing and cursing, Brendan stormed to the front door and without even checking the intercom, unlocked and let the visitor in.

With a face creased in anger, Brendan clenched his fists waiting for their front door to knock. And at the first rap of knuckles, he pulled it open with such fury that the woman behind it, shrivelled a little in shock.

"Well?" he snapped, taking in her bedraggled appearance with a disdain that would be evident even to her.

"Sorry," she said, shrinking back. She clutched a scrap of paper in her hands and looked from the illegible handwriting to Brendan's face. "I think I've got the address right…"

Brendan watched as her nerves took hold and she tucked greying, unwashed hair behind her ear. There was a distinct smell coming from her, that he recognised as vomit.

"Whatever it is you're selling, I ain't interested."

Brendan was about to shut the door in her face when she spoke again. "I'm looking for my son," she said.

And then from behind Brendan, a voice he hadn't expected to hear.

"Mum?" Ste said, causing both Brendan's and Pauline's gaze to shoot in his direction.

Before either Brendan or Ste had the chance to react in the way they might've, Pauline broke down in the doorway, her face blotchy from tears and her body trembling. Both men stood there motionless, Brendan's hand gripped the door, still waiting to slam it and Ste's eyes were awash with a thousand different agonies that he could barely deal with.

"You want me to get rid of her?" Brendan asked him, blanking the whimpering coming from Pauline.

"No! Son, please. Five minutes. Please," she begged him, edging her way into the apartment.

"What do you want?" Ste asked, his voice hardened by years' worth of trauma needing him to be strong.

"Terry's dead," she said, her voice a choked sob. "It's been a week. I just needed to see you son,"

Brendan watched, the anger towards the infamous Pauline Hay unflinching, as Ste took a moment, head in hands before he swallowed and built up those defences. He stood statue-like.

"You better come in then."

X

"You're a mess," Ste said, handing her a weak cup of tea. He perched on the arm of the sofa opposite, keeping an eye on the bedroom door, where he knew Brendan was dressing but listening intently.

"What do you expect?" she said, shaking as she blew on the tea, "I've got nothing left, have I?"

Ste's arms were folded and he kept his coldness, eye contact to a minimum. "You've come to the wrong place if you're expecting any sympathy off me. I'm glad he's dead."

Pauline cried. "You can't say that. Not about the dead. Not about your dad,"

"DON'T call him that. He's nothing to me," Ste felt his fingernails dig into the palm of his hand. He felt stirrings in him of his old life, his old world, the old cycles.

Silence drifted between them. They were even more like strangers than ever before.

"Swanky place you've got here, Stephen. I thought I'd got the wrong road, all these posh apartment blocks. And my son living in one." Pauline tried to raise a smile, but tears were running into the bone china cup soon after. Ste looked at the cup and was immediately transported to another time. Brendan insisted it was the only way to drink tea; mugs were for coffee. And Ste wasn't sure he knew what the point of saucers were, but he had shrugged and went round another homeware section sensing Brendan was twitchy about people thinking they were a couple buying chinaware (which they were, and was patently obvious they were, but it was baby-steps on Day 3).

"How did you find me anyway?"

"I looked you up. Internet," she said, "Found your restaurant. You looked so handsome in the picture." As if he hadn't seen it before, Pauline showed him a print out of the website that she'd had crumpled in her clammy hands. "Then I rang and spoke to someone there and they gave me your address,"

Ste decided on finding out and firing whoever it was that handed out his home address just like that.

Brendan appeared from the bedroom just then, eyeing Ste carefully to check he was all right. Ste gave him a nod. "Tea's on the side for ya,". He was surprised how safe he felt in Brendan's company these days.

To Ste's surprise, Pauline stood up and offered her hand to Brendan. "You must be Doug," she said, "from the restaurant? Ste's business partner?"

Taken aback Brendan pointed to himself, "Hear the accent? Irish, not American."

Pauline sank back into her seat, confused. "Sorry," she muttered.

"So you're…."

"Brendan." He stated, looking to Ste warily. So Pauline didn't clock that there was only one bedroom, or the note on the fridge that lingered from Valentine's day last month: _Violets are blue, Roses are red, You owe me an hour in bed._

Brendan began making himself cereal, shoulders tensed as he anticipated what might come next.

With an unusual sense of confidence in his new, sorted life, Ste gave a contented smile. "Brendan's my boyfriend."

He knew Brendan would wince at the word, but the satisfaction to see Pauline wince made him want to describe Brendan's role in his life as something even more graphic.

Pauline give a funny sort of laugh. One that gets stuck in your throat and ends abruptly. "Boyfriend?"

Brendan, having composed himself (counting to 114 and filling his mouth with Crunchy Nut), turned around and leant against the counter. In Pauline's face, he saw a disgust that once filled his pores, but while his was buried and replaced with a stronger emotion of love, she wore hers like an ignorant badge of fear.

"You mean you're…"

"Gay. None of your business but yeah I am," he said, head held high and defiant.

Pauline looked towards Brendan and then back at Ste. There was a chink of china as Pauline put down the cup. "What about Amy and those kiddies. He made you like this, did he? Dirty old man."

Brendan lurched forward, getting into Pauline's personal space, but Ste rushed in to separate him from his mum.

"Bren, go and do the club accounts. Pauline will be going any minute." Ste stroked the side of Brendan's face, trying to calm him.

"Don't you speak to him like that, y'hear me?"

"Brendan. It's okay," Ste said, wrestling with him a little until he backed away from the scene.

Ste turned around to face the woman who called himself his mother. "And you better get your things and clear off before I throw you out."

There was that empty laugh again. "What has happened to you, eh son? Living here all high and mighty with that pervert, thinking you're better than all of us. Speaking ill of Terry when you're living with…that monster. Son of mine's no poof,"

"Get out."

And the desperation hit her like a wall and her eyes streamed once more, "Stephen…I'm so lonely, son…"

Ste stood and wrenched open the door. "You ain't got the right to call me that. I said: go."

Pauline staggered to the door, her face contorted. "Happy fucking mother's day," she scoffed. She jabbed her finger at Ste as she left. "And you can tell _him_ that I hope he dies of fucking AIDS."

And with the door slammed in her face, Pauline was gone. Ste's breathing became ragged, his fists balling and uncurling. A rage clouded him and he pounded the door with his hands, and cries became a shout in frustration. He sunk to his knees, pulling them close.

When he opened his eyes, Brendan was at his feet and then crouched and positioned identically next to him, squashed against the door. He wrapped his arm around his shoulders and felt Stephen's tense resistance, ebb away until he was left with the man he loved sobbing on his chest.

He wasn't broken, he wasn't damaged. It was an old life, chipping away at a new. Fortunately the life he had now, the life they shared, was built of stronger stuff than something Pauline could destroy. Perhaps things weren't as solid as they might be in a few years but the business was good, the kids were doing well at school and he was trying, he was so desperately trying to make their relationship work. Not a week went buy when something didn't throw him, when there was someone else in his life who didn't know, or Stephen did something that made it all too cosy, too domesticated and he'd freak out. But there was nothing that didn't make the struggle worth it. Life without Stephen was unthinkable.

Brendan kissed the top of Ste's head.

"She was right about one thing." Brendan said, thumbing away Ste's tears. "I am a dirty old man," he smiled, all teeth, at Ste.

Softly he smiled back.

"You want two eggs? I'm making us a fry up," Brendan said, picking himself up off the floor.

"You've already eaten." Ste said, unsurprised but humorously.

"Not a proper Brady fry up though. Your stomach won't know what's hit it. All that poncey food you do,"

Ste rolled his eyes and wiped them on the back of his sleeves. "You just wait, four more years you'll be hitting forty and then it's all gonna go to your gut," he grabbed some non-existent fat of his own stomach.

"Forty. Jesus. So you keep reminding me,"

Ste stepped behind Brendan and hugged him, resting his chin on Brendan's shoulder. "Love you," he said.

"Good. Now sit down and stop interfering. The master is at work."

Ste sat at the breakfast bar, watching Brendan throw together their breakfast. It was the only thing he could cook, but Ste couldn't deny it was pretty damn special.

Pauline didn't love him or know him and he didn't want her approval, let alone need it. She reminded him of everything that had been wrong in his life. He was proud of his life, proud of who he'd become, what he'd made of himself and she could say nothing to change that.

Ste sat back and watched the master at work, tea towel over his shoulder and frying pan in hand.


End file.
